“Streets, lights atop the bonce at night – sallow, mauve, crimson lilac when carmine a shade on the retina of my eyes, espy I for a habit brown, mahogany red, and your hand. So stay, stay, stay with me.” - Me.
Colors of the rainbow have been undeniably noted in the number seven, yet on these rainbows, double, triple, and many more to preponderate lashings of sparks of krypton which for the want of paroxysm somewhere, burst time to time, and then the fireworks midst the azure of the night sky evince quietly in the corner that the stars are exploding somewhere. The rainbows have often been a symbol of pride, liberty, freedom, but to a person in clasp of mayhem of wars within, in battles with conflicts that do not cede with a discontinuous display of feelings in the entirety of one’s system, let alone reconciliation with the shades. The beauty is sought out of ugliness, the more terrible the melee of the mind, the more exquisite the paint on the easel of the artist.
A silhouette sketched in semblance of the aforementioned conviction bears eyes whose sight seeks to put on display what the trace of the shadows beholds apropos the concept of bereavement. The untimely demise is an untoward matter to open about, much less accept it too quickly. The pain might be engulfed easily if it could be felt too briskly and bereft of the involvement of a good deal of consciousness. However, the feeling, the sensation of it never really subsides, but hovers all about the system until on the psyche the imprint of a scar.
Capturing the thought of a kind alike is the movie, namely Welcome to the Rileys, where the thought on irreparable loss finds much corroboration on many planes under the direction of the director. The movie features actor James Gandolfini, and actresses like Kristen Stewart, Melissa Leo and many more independent and strong women the cinematic Universe has come to know for their intaglio of niche out of it on their own. The movie deeply captures and manifests the trauma of a couple in denial of acceptance of their beloved daughter’s untimely demise. Mallory, a striptease bar dancer (played by Kristen Stewart), serves as the cause the couple which Mr. Doug Riley and Mrs. Lois Riley make, amble further for whilst battling with self-inflicted injuries which are very often under the skin, and the fight to find one way to love each other again.
Possibly a changeling in the face of their lost daughter, the Holy Deity has Himself sent to them, made to coexist at the same time as both the Rileys, whereby she is conferred the onus of simply being found, for the magic will unfold all on its own just by the meeting of the three people having broken rainbows of their own they still struggle to keep in arc above their heads, and admire them anyway midst and beyond every shower of rainfall, Mallory becomes the character the Rileys can perhaps, get to tell themselves for that not all is lost; not everything needs to end. An acceptance of the truth that happens to be is undeniably preceded by what has been regarded in works of tragedy as catharsis. The latter occurs at an instance of a time, and is quite ephemeral, but leaves no remnants of the cicatrices in clots of blood inside, although a complete erasure inherently is impossible as it should be for the scars remain, and the scars must remain. Wars thus begin inside as the couple, the Rileys display and express the agony more clearly. The journey is never simple, and tremors judder enough to shake the soul out of the bodies, but as FLETCHER puts it in their song, namely Healing – “The journey is a work of Art”.
So much so as the life goes, the deconstruction is the desideratum for the gray concrete of the brain to bear life in the interstices of the bricks from whose mosses on the surface may arise rainbows galore and the sky be a montage of a painter’s hands as they are a smear on the heart of a canvas in shades burgundy, carmine, mauve, sepia, tangerine and every other color that one has seen, that one has really seen beyond the margins on the white of the paper where the ends fade into the thin air of the vicinity all around until all over the bodies the rainbows – the skin their ground, the canvas merely plastic otherwise.
Ananya Dutta
Editorial Board
The Redstockings Chronicle
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